Better than Xanax

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June 25, 2009 by skwishface

A new bra can really improve your outlook on life.

I don’t shop for bras often. Due to some inexplicable generosity on Mother Nature’s part, I can’t just breeze into Victoria’s Secret and casually select whichever bit of lacey frou-frou catches my eye. For one thing, I swear to gawd that store sizes their bras up. The tag says D, but the fit says B+. For another, the structural integrity of their products is lacking. I’m not just shopping for underwear, here. I’m shopping for Support. Capital “S”. What I need is wide straps and heavy-duty underwire, strong fabrics and maybe an advanced pulley system.

So I shop at Lane Bryant, where they understand not only the shape and size of what I’m looking to contain, but also the heft. Not just the circumference, but the mass. There are entire geometry/physics cross-training courses involved. Mechanical engineers go to Lane Bryant Bra College just to audit classes and bask in the presence of true genius.

My approach to bra-shopping is much like my approach to any clothing shopping – find what fits, buy it in several colors, don’t shop again for years. I build lasting relationships with my clothes, particularly the hard-working devices tasked with the support of nature’s bounty, and I am very slow to replace them. Also, the bras that work for me are pricey. But every now and then, Lane Bryant will have a sale on their bras, and I join the throngs of like-chested women who descend upon their stores like flocks of angry, hungry doves.*

This year’s sale arrived at just the right time. I’ve been wearing the same three bras for about five years, now. These bras have weathered some storms. Two pregnancies, nursing two babies, and the wildly fluctuating weight that caused my breast shape and texture to undergo some serious schizophrenia. They had done their best, but the years had taken their toll on my poor bras. Where once everything was high and tight (as it could be, given the scope of the task), now things were more low and loose. I had the posture and profile of a geriatric nudist. The time had come to shop!

Oh, what a difference a new bra makes. I found the perfect style and fit, bought it in four colors. High and tight is mine again. I stand tall, shoulders back and well-support bosom thrust proudly before me. I can breathe more easily, and a pain that I didn’t even realize I had in my shoulders is gone. I may have the power of flight.

Life’s troubles just roll right off my attractively sculpted chest. The Husband tells me we have budget worries. I remind him that my rack is spectacular again. The county won’t let me renew my vehicle registration online, so I’m going to have to stand around for at least an hour and file boring paperwork. And I will look fantastic doing so. My baby still isn’t sleeping through the night and I can barely keep me eyes open at work. But my breasts are alert and as perky as modern technology can make them, short of surgery.

Everyone, go out and buy yourself a new bra. It’ll make you feel good.

 

*Why doves? Because they’re cute and appropriately rounded to fit the imagery. Also, fully capable of pecking your eyes out. Be nice to doves.

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